


whatever my man is, i am his

by Polexia_Aphrodite



Series: Gone for Soldiers [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Established Relationship, F/M, Interrogation, Maria Hill Feels, Roughness, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polexia_Aphrodite/pseuds/Polexia_Aphrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thought that <i>she</i> – this woman he spent three weeks sleeping next to – could have had anything to do with the ambush that could have killed the two people he needs most makes his stomach turn. Before he leaves New York, he has to know for sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever my man is, i am his

Three hours after the meeting at Stark Tower, the Avengers Initiative team has gone AWOL on a Stark Industries jet to Los Angeles. All except James, who tells Steve he has unfinished business in New York, but refuses to elaborate.

James'll let them hash it out – the new plan, the new team and new headquarters. His head feels more upside-down now than it has since he came back, and he'd rather just let Steve tell him what to do later. It seems easier that way.

Until he's ready to go west, he stalks Maria through the city. The thought that _she_ – this woman he spent three weeks sleeping next to – could have had anything to do with the ambush that could have killed the two people he needs most makes his stomach turn. Before he leaves New York, he has to know for sure.

He tracks her one night after work. She has on a crisp trench coat and a prim pencil skirt. The straight line of her shoulders, the curve of her calves, makes him remember too much, and this is hardly the time for that. So the first chance he gets, he grabs her, one metal hand over her mouth, and yanks her into an empty alleyway.

He holds her tight by the arms and pushes her up against the wall; the coarse brick at her back scratches against the fabric of her jacket. Maria's eyes are wide, but unafraid.

"What the _fuck_ happened in that warehouse?" he snarls, because he didn't really think of a good opening question. But she knows whey they're here, so.

She doesn't flinch. "I had nothing to do with that. Fury never told me. I don't even know if _he_ knew."

His grip on her tightens and he hears her sharp inhale. He can picture the finger-shaped bruises she'll find there in the morning, and almost feels bad for hurting her.

She looks him straight in the eye. "I swear to you," she says, and he can tell she means it. And, God help him, he believes her.

He lets her go, but doesn't move away. He reaches around her, underneath her coat, and pulls her Glock out of its holster. Maria doesn't fight him; and she _doesn't_ let the feel of his arms around her remind her of what they shared in Buenos Aires.

He checks the safety and tucks it into his waistband. He knows she's got another pistol at her ankle, hidden in her boot, but if she goes for it, she won't come back up.

"Why?" he growls, still looming over her, invading her space.

She looks up at him. Her expression is hard, serious, professional.

"The Council thinks they're threats, that you're all threats. They wanted to control you and they can't."

"So they'll kill us?"

Maria shrugs and looks away. James huffs and looks away too, just for a moment, just to collect his thoughts.

Her fist hits his stomach with a sickening _thud_ , and then her gun is back in her hand, aimed straight at his head. He moves fast, pulling out his pistol and aiming it back at her. They stare each other down for a long moment, hands steady, safeties off. James tries to hide his struggle to catch the breath she knocked out of him.

She flashes a smug smile and raises her hands, her finger off the trigger. When she tucks her pistol back into its holster, James sulks and does the same. One of these days, he's going to have to get used to dames getting the better of him.

"Scared the bejesus out of me," he mutters, glaring at her even though he knows he had it coming.

She scoffs. "You shouldn't take things that aren't yours."

He looks her up and down, rakes a hand through his unwashed hair. He wishes her smile – even the shit-eating, self-satisfied smirk she's giving him now – didn't make him think of how good it used to feel to make her laugh.

She sobers and tells him not to be dramatic; that it's not about killing anyone, just neutralizing threats. Somehow it isn't comforting.

"So what now?" he asks, "You'll go back to being Fury's lapdog?" He can't hide the resentment in his voice.

Her brow furrows, she looks at her feet.

"You shouldn't be here," she tells him, ignoring his question, "You should have left with the rest of them."

He shrugs, "I'll be gone soon enough."

She looks up at him. Her eyes, clear and blue even in the dim light, meet his, and what he sees there just about knocks him off his feet for the second time that night. She misses him. She wants him. She's fighting herself every step of the way. The sight of her – this immovable column of a woman, filled with longing for _him_ – is enough to drive him halfway to crazy.

James steps closer to her, closing the distance between them. She steps away, but her back hits the wall behind her. He's so close to her – he's all she can see and smell, and even though he isn't touching her, she can feel warmth radiating off of him.

"You think about me." It isn't a question.

She shakes her head unconvincingly.

"You do," he bends his head towards her, his lips ghosting across the soft skin at the side of her neck. She gasps when he slides one hand around her waist, down to the small of her back and one leg between hers, pinning her to the wall behind her. "You think about Argentina," he tells her; his voice is low and gravelly, "So do I."

It's not just a line; he has thought about it. _Hell_ , he thinks about it all the damn time: how good – how _fucking_ good – she felt underneath him, how she could push him to the brink only to pull him back and start all over again, how they could reduce each other to shivering, sobbing messes, sprawled out across the bed. And how afterwards she would let him kiss her with his hands on either side of her face, his mouth moving against hers gently, gently.

He's got his fingers in her hair, his body pressed flush against hers, and he can feel her move against him, just barely.

"You need to go," she murmurs, "If the Council knew you were still here—"

Something rumbles in his chest. His hand fists in her hair and pulls. It shuts her up, at least. He holds her tight by the hair and around the waist; his mouth - teeth and tongue - slide along the tendons in her neck. He works his way up to her mouth, and she kisses him back like she's on fire. It sends a rush of blood to his groin, and his hips rock against hers involuntarily. The hard press of his erection against her hip pulls a soft moan out from the back of her throat.

Maria knows better, and she knows this is bad. She knows that standing in this alley, with James Barnes pressed up against her, is a fireable offense at best. She wishes she could be shocked that he's hitching up her skirt. She wishes she didn't want him to. She wishes her hands weren't on his belt buckle, working frantically to get his zipper down. She wishes her legs didn't fit so well around his waist. She wishes she could tell him not to fuck her and kiss her and tell her how beautiful she is when she comes. She's spent a lifetime being strong, but with him, she wishes she were stronger.

And when he kisses her goodbye – and she knows it's goodbye, and she knows, now, that that's what he really wanted to say to her in the first place – she wishes it didn't make her heart sink.


End file.
